Chapter 6: The Crossroad of the West

It had been well over 45 minutes. The engine hum remained while the rig moved steadily along the degraded road. Like a giant slow-roving mechanical caravan, its destination only lay in the path ahead of it.

The interior cabin was different. Greg kept a steady hold of the steering wheel. His speedometer showed that he was maintaining a speed of 45 mph. The dark clouds were slightly less. The prior heavy rainfall had reduced the landscape to clay and muddied dirt. The man noted that the heat and evaporation were creating more and more toxic fumes. However, the haze of dust had long settled, allowing a clearer view of the partially lit landscape.

Thankfully, the filtered interior was clean enough that Greg wasn’t wearing his headcover. He noted that Gip’grenda was no longer looking at the wall of hilltops to her right but at his red-bearded face. A form of country music resided, a more modern rendition of melodies and songs played in the early 2040s. The banging sound of tambourines occasionally made Gip’grenda’s hand pat her scaly hand on her leg, keeping along with the beat.

The reptilian eyes seemed to beam hard into the man’s soul. He turned his head slightly before keeping his attention on the road. What was originally designed to hold two burly men in the cabin did wonders in making the Itrean look smaller. Her minuscule frame almost made her look like a teen sitting in the passenger seat watching her father drive.

“You keep staring at me,” Greg said. “What is it?”

“You have blonde hair,” she remarked.

“It took you that long to notice that?”

Gip’grenda seemed indifferent. “You are the first human I see ... different hair.”

His brow lifted as he briefly looked at her before showing a look of contentment. He sighed before he spoke to her.

“So,” he questioned her. “Tell me about yourself. You come from the Zota?”

“Zo’t’za ... Racing village,” she replied with a few clicks in her voice. “Zo’t’za was chosen for the T’rintar races. My people take care of the wildlife and help maintain the track.”

“Were they forced?”

“No ... the elder saw wisdom. New Atrea gets bigger and bigger. Villages try to preserve their way of life, but more people means they will outnumber us.”

“Hmph ... that sounds familiar...”

“It does?”

Greg remained quiet as Gip’grenda tilted her head to the side. She decided to continue with her conversation.

“Past elder believes that home and surrounding be safe ... I don’t have the word...”

“Preserve?”

“Yes. Village make bargain. Government preserves our village, and my home only serves as a race track.”

“It would still interfere with your way of life, though.”

“How so?” She asked.

“Your village had customs, traditions ... by bringing racing into your home, visitors would still bring their own ideas.”

“Racing is limited. It happens a few times in one of your years. Only villagers remain. We take care of the track. No outsiders bother us.”

“Apparently, you managed to hold out after all. But, there’s one thing you missed.”

“What?”

“You...”

Gip’grenda seemed even more perplexed. “I do not understand.”

“You were still impacted by the ‘outsiders,’ whether you agree or not. You’re a perfect example of it. Because the outsiders brought their vehicles in, and you saw it, it convinced you into doing it yourself.”

“It is not bad, though.”

“I’m not here to tell you if it’s bad or not. However, your village still had customs or traditions before the masses arrived. Eventually, those masses will grow in such large numbers that they’ll move in, and before you know it, your village will be swallowed whole. But ... I imagine Zilik’s Disease probably derailed some of that.”

Gip’grenda remained quiet for a moment as she considered his words. Her nostrils flared while she looked ahead. The continuous movement and sometimes bumpy ride would make her shift her seatbelt. However, it didn’t take long before she looked back at him.

“How do you survive?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he replied.

“You use that hat ... then you don’t.”

“My breathing apparatus?”

“Yes. You wear so much. Yet, you breathe without it.”

“I already told you. The air filters clean this cabin.”

“Is it enough?”

He took a deep breath. “No, but I have other things in my body that help filter it.”

“Other things?”

“Nanites ... in the lungs, kidneys, and stomach. They help clean the toxins.”

“Nanites?” She questioned.

“Small tiny machines ... the size of a cell. Every five years, I receive a fresh injection.”

“Little ... robots? Other humans here have robots inside?”

“People here ... most do. Depends on the person. A lot of the rich have augmented kidneys, lungs, stomachs, etc. Without it, the only thing that would protect us is the dome cities. Even then, it’s still recommended to have something in case the water purifiers are jacked up.”

Greg had noticed that they had passed the hills on the right. They were traveling forward through a region of complete flatlands.

“Is the air that dirty?” She asked.

“Heh,” Greg almost sneered. “That’s an understatement. It isn’t just what was released from the Orange Muck, but what was in the air. Everything we pumped into mother nature, combined with the muck shit, turns the air into a deadly gas. Depending on the level, it can burn the lungs, burn the skin, and poison you. Everything that you see happened hundreds of years ago. My people have been trying to survive ever since.”

“Is this truck releasing deadly gas?” She asked.

“The exhaust? One truck like this is beyond nothing. The damage was done long ago. Doesn’t really matter anyway because the world’s fossil fuel reserves were damn well near dry. Most of the shale was mined out at the end of the 21st century. By then,” he tapped his finger on the steering wheel. “They started to switch over to electric and biofuels ... assuming it was enough.”

“Is it cleaner?”

“Depends. Your vehicles may sound quiet and smell fresh, but your powerplants are still powered by older fossil fuels till they start running out, too. Fusion and Nuclear plants helped, but it wasn’t everywhere. Supposedly, from the stories I heard, the population was so huge that they had to switch over to plant-based fuels. However, there was already widespread famines, so decisions had to be made on whether to grow food or grow the fuel. Needless to say, I would not want to live in that time period.”

“It’s so sad.”

“This isn’t your home. That’s our problem, something that happened a long time ago.”

“You can still go outside without that?” She asked, pointing at his headcover.

“Depends,” he remarked. “Yes, I can walk outside for a few minutes, but the more I breathe, the more the nanites have to work. Eventually, it becomes poisonous, and I can even go blind. Different weather can affect the level of toxicity in the air. Right now, the levels aren’t very good. Supposedly, the air quality has improved up north, but I don’t know to what degree.”

“That is good. We are cleaning your home.”

“Perhaps...”

Even when Gip’grenda had made her point, Greg didn’t seem entirely impressed. The man noticed her slight unease as she looked at him. It was most subtle.

“What was life like in the village?” he asked her.

“My home?” She explained. “Zo’t’za is pretty. Not like here. Green, purple, blue, orange, and yellow ... I believe those are your colors.”

“As I recall, Itreans handle their families slightly differently. They only see mother, father, brother, and sister as the true family unit.”

She paused for a little bit as she seemed to seek more clarity. “Your language. You have grandma, grandpa, uncle, and aunt ... yes?”

“Yep.”

She momentarily closed her eyes. “I ... no. Itrean has those words, but village is family. Maybe that is true for many Itreans, but not Zo’t’za. Everyone is close. Everyone knows each other.”

“How old is your village?”

“1,000s of cycles.”

“And how many live there?”

“Hundreds.”

“How did your village remain so small?”

She paused to think about it. “Many New Atrea ... we believe in the ‘Vanta Click quiek’ip’...”

“What?” he questioned.

“I don’t have a transla ... translation,” she tried to explain. “Mates will have two children in their life. The children are their replacements when they die. We use our food and water ... respect nature. Some villages are part of the Vanta Click quiek’ip.”

“In other words, you found your own form of balance.”

“Yes. We only change when we welcome racing. It gives us ... it give us...”

“It gives your people ‘purpose.’”

“Yes,” she concurred.

“I see. Well, in that case, welcome to Earth, my home. This land belongs to the United States of America. It’s part of me, and I’m a part of it.”

“Thank you. But, I see so many cities and towns ... so empty.”

“They either died or left. What’s left of us are... ‘relic hunters.’” He resisted in saying scavengers.

“Are you happy doing this?” she asked.

“ ... Yes.”

She paused. “Me too.”

The man almost shook his head. Why had he let her join him on this trip? He didn’t have the answer. Gip’grenda’s reasons still seemed oblique to him as well.

Greg looked at his fuel gauge. His computer screen had calculated the current amount of fuel usage. The news was good.

“We have enough fuel to make it to Salt Lake City Dome,” Greg explained to her. “Assuming nothing unusual happens, we should make it.”

There was something to the man’s right. It was a series of roads that led away from the main highway. He could already see that the overpass bridge had partially collapsed. It was possible that he could still drive through it, but he wasn’t going to take the risk. He decided to use the exit where he could reenter back onto the highway...

Several hours had passed. Gip’grenda had remained silent, watching the ever-constant scenery change as the truck continued its long northern trip. Besides the few questions that were tossed around, the long journey had been mostly quiet.

However, that was soon to change. By now, the road had gotten wider and consisted of multiple lanes. On the right was a taller mountainside that took up a sizable portion of the landscape. The sun was edging closer to sunset, as darkness was growing at an ever-present rate. Building structures had become apparent, with some reaching increasingly long heights. Former houses dotted the long sides past the fenced walls of the former highway.

Greg could feel a minor hint of exhaustion. His butt was sore, with his foot even feeling a sense of fatigue. The truck, however, was still holding up well, maintaining an ever-present speed of around 40 mph. Even then, Greg noticed that his fuel gauge was getting closer and closer to empty. It was becoming an eternal debate if he should pull over to use the last amount of his reserve fuel or press on.

“How much further?” Gip’grenda asked.

“Another good hour...” Greg replied.

“Mountains...,” she pointed to her right.

“The Salt Lake City Mountains ... according to the map GPS. You’re looking at Provo Peak.”

“I see so few cars...”

“Hmm...”

Greg hadn’t noticed it, but she was right. The road was completely empty, and it had been like that for well over ten minutes. Any signs of abandoned or discarded cars were long gone.

“You’re right,” he told her. “Looks like Salt Lake City Dome has been cleaning up the area pretty well. Even the road almost seemed better maintained.”

“But, they no use it,” she commented.

“True. There might have been other reasons for it. Cars can have a good source of parts in them. If there were people who had long perished in their vehicles, the survivors most likely searched them out to give them a proper burial.”

Gip’grenda looked at the man. Despite him feeling indifferent to her, she had, at least, not been annoying to him. She was well-mannered and only asked questions to pique her interest.

“You are ... recording this travel?” she asked him.

“It took you that long to notice the little camera looking ahead?” he asked her.

“I notice, but I do not know why...”

“So others can see it. For proof.”

“No, why not more?”

Greg glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”

“Use ... what do they call them? Drones? ... like the races.”

“Drones?” The man sighed. “Ehh ... I don’t have any of them. Even the ones today can get eaten up in the dust storms.”

“I have something to help. It’s in my hoverbike.”

The man’s brow peaked. “Well, the next stop, you can get it.”

The rig slowly turned to the left, following along the degraded highway. The Yutilian’s eyes looked over to the right and could see past an open field with an orange pond. The thick sludge almost seemed to bubble, producing a sickening aura to it.

“Orange water...,” Gip’grenda remarked.

“Yep, concentrated Orange Muck,” Greg replied. “I know you can’t see it, but to our far left is the Provo Bay and the Utah Lake. Wouldn’t want to imagine you swimming in that, even if you’re better handling it than I ever would.”

“Looks ... bad.”

The CB radio beeped. Greg let off the accelerator pedal, letting the truck slow down a bit. He reached his hand and turned the radio on before pulling the receiver to his mouth.

“Attention unknown vehicle.” An unknown male’s voice could be heard on the radio. “This is the Provo Port Dome Security. We’ve picked you up on our radar. Identify yourself.”

Greg pressed the button on his radio. “Provo Port Dome. This is Greg Eck. I’m driving a truck rig to the Salt Lake City Dome.”

“A truck rig? I’m tracking you from our camera units. What type of vehicle is that? Looks like it’s straight from a museum.”

“It’s an early 21st century Oshkosh military truck. Still uses diesel fuel. I’m on my way to the Salt Lake City Dome to pick up more.”

“No wonder. I tried calling you from different communication sets. Figured that you would at least respond to old radio. Where do you come from?”

“Las Vegas Dome,” Greg replied.

“Las Vegas? Hot damn. You drove all the way up here in that? At first, I thought you were a scavenger still working around this region, but never saw them drive around in something that old in such good working condition.” There was a pause. “As long as you’re not bandits, you’re clear.”

“Roger that. You have problems with bandits?”

“On occasion, yes. Never encountered them myself, but supposedly, a few years ago, a gang tried to rush into the territory. They didn’t get far before we blasted them to bits.”

“I thought that they were a myth.”

“They exist, just don’t know where they come from. I was making sure you weren’t one of them.”

“The flag didn’t give you a clue?” Greg asked.

“Good point, but rogues and bandits will try anything. I’ll pass all this up north to Salt Lake City Dome Defenses that you’re free to enter their territory. Just ... try not to do anything stupid. I see that gun on your roof. Try any funny business, and you’ll be a crater in the road, you hear?”

“One can’t be too careful out here. Understood.”

“You’re welcome to stop at the Provo Port Dome if you need to rest. Otherwise, welcome to Salt Lake City.”

“Thank you.”

“Provo Port Dome, out.”

With that, Greg hung up his receiver and resumed his travels. Gip’grenda looked at the GPS map and to the left. It was difficult to see the small dome established because it was too far away.

Greg noted that he could see various cannons and railgun emplacements planted on the low mountain slopes. The security forces were not joking around. It didn’t take long before both of them noted a gray cylindrical shuttle flying north toward the great city ahead. The man decided to increase his speed. He could simply pull over and refuel if he ran out of gas. The GPS clock still showed that he had a good 40 minutes of travel ahead of them.

The great outpost of Salt Lake City lay ahead. The truck rig continued its long travel on the abandoned highway. By now, the former city of Provo had been left behind.

Like many great cities, Salt Lake City had seen better days. Its structures had been eroded and decayed under years of neglect. There were slightly more skyscrapers than in Las Vegas, but the countless muck rains and dust storms weathered their sides.

Greg noted the scenery very well despite the darkening gray color. The dawning light still provided some illumination, enough that he could see everything. Unlike Las Vegas, Salt Lake City’s structures were more spread out. While it was true that more people lived here, it had slightly less charm. It was a maze of poorly maintained roads. Even one of the great superstructures built in the later 21st century had fallen and collapsed more recently near the main highway, proving to be a hazard for the truck rig to avoid.

The journey was arduous, but Greg noted there was certainly more activity in this city than Las Vegas ever had. For one, he saw a pair of Genisen H-46 Trucks traveling down the opposite lane. These vehicles were more of the 23rd-century variety, with only a hint of eroded paint on their sides. There were also more hints of human activity, mostly focused near the living quarter sections of the city. The heart of Salt Lake City was welcoming, at least. Greg noted more shuttles and transports that would come and land near the former remains of Salt Lake City’s International Airport.

Gip’grenda was curious as ever, watching the various buildings and noting their antiquated state. Greg looked over at his GPS map. All in all, there were at least four large domes built over multiple portions of the city. In many ways, it was a welcoming sight for the man to witness. Despite the various road hazards, Salt Lake City had become a central hub for the Earth survivors that remained. It made the Las Vegas Dome almost seem miniscule by comparison.

“You look happy,” Gip’grenda said, snapping the man from his thoughts.

“Of course, I’m happy,” Greg replied. “Happy to finally get some gas.”

“Humans live here ... many humans.”

“Salt Lake City was a major city in this continent. It was nothing like the former coastal cities were, but it was still a great achievement.”

“I like it ... name is easy to remember.”

“It has many names today. Sometimes, they call it New Salt Lake City. This will be a good place to rest for the night ... assuming we can get some gas.”

“Not sure?” she asked.

“Videl made an order, but sometimes people can be slow in reaching that goal. If they can’t fulfill the order, this trip comes to an end.”

“I see ... they will have it.”

The man sighed. “You make as much sense as you joining in on this whole trip.”

The Yutilian’s reaction was surprisingly simple as she looked forward and took her right scaly hand before gently pressing it to her right breast. The gesture didn’t appear to be that of a sensual one, but one where she was possibly making sure that her shirt wasn’t slipping. It was enough that the man momentarily looked at her body before he looked at his map. Greg’s GPS showed that he was heading west of the main city towards one of the main domes.

“Even the smallest dome is almost the size of Las Vegas’s Dome,” Greg remarked. “Looks like it’s not far from the refinery.”

They were closing in on the supposed destination. By now, Greg’s tank was nearly empty. The faint outline of a round curved dome could be seen protruding near a set of buildings on the man’s front left side. He was preparing to make another turn when he heard his CB radio click on.

“Approaching rig,” an older yet slow female voice echoed from the radio. “Identify yourselves.”

Greg eased up on the accelerator pedal and grabbed the receiver before lifting it to his mouth. “This is Greg Eck driving. I’m closing in approach vector southeast of your location.”

“Greg Eck. I received notification of your truck from Provo Dome Security. Welcome to Salt Lake City Refinery Dome.”

“Thank you. I’m looking for an Owen Michael. My friend, Videl, made an arrangement for some diesel fuel at your refinery.”

“Videl ... Videl...,” there was a pause. “I don’t recognize the name ... checking my computer logs ... give me a minute.”

There was another long pause as Greg sighed a little bit. Gip’grenda continued looking at him as the man made a slow turn with his truck. Thankfully, maintaining a slow speed allowed him easy control with one hand on the steering wheel.

“I’m coming in,” Greg said, finally losing patience. “I...”

“Wait,” the old woman replied on the other end. “Sorry, my dear. The other person who works here doesn’t always keep me updated on impending arrivals. Thank you for being patient. It looks like everything is ready for you. I’ll contact my manager, and he’ll be waiting for you. Pull your rig into Garage 7.”

“Roger that ... and ... thank you.”

“And to you, Greg ... good to see someone finally drive a vehicle older than me.”

That actually made the man smile. “Thank you, umm...”

“You can simply call me Mrs. Rendi.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rendi. Greg, out...”

With that, Greg hung up the receiver and stepped on the accelerator pedal. The truck began to speed up more as the rig approached the station.

Approaching from the eastern side of the dome, the dawning sun could be seen trying its best to poke through the thick gray clouds before disappearing behind the distant mountains for the rest of the night. It had grown so dark that the truck’s floodlights were doing more and more work illuminating the road. Large portions of the city were unlit, apart from a few large navigation floodlights that were installed in various areas of the city. Plenty of lights were coming from the former International Airport, including the approaching dome city.

Large floodlights were illuminating the main structure. Connected to the remains of a former commercial district, the large dome bled over a few blocks, giving it an almost U-shaped curve. Beside it was a large tunnel that wrapped toward the local refinery. This former business structure had been well maintained and kept in good operational status. Two of the four smokestacks were still operational, sending a continuous wave of dark black smoke into the air.

All of it was a welcoming sight for Greg. Surrounding the entire megastructure was a series of various gun and missile launcher emplacements. Sets of older military tanks, from ancient vehicles to current UHN APCs, lined the sides of the establishment. The human settlement was little more than a stronghold. The man made one long, slow turn into the large former parking lot away from the highway. He eased up a lot on the accelerator pedal, causing the truck to slow down more and more. By then, he reached over and switched off the music, silencing the truck’s cabin.

“We made it,” Gip’grenda said.

“Yep,” Greg remarked, feeling a sense of relief. “Any more, and I would’ve run out of gas.”

There were nine garage doors in all, with the seventh one slowly opening. It was a queue for Greg to turn his truck towards on his approach. It took less than a minute before they entered it.

It was like entering a giant maw. Each interior garage was a slot dedicated to housing numerous vehicles. Each one was unique, consisting of parked similar Genisen trucks, offshoot motorcycles, and even a couple of buses. There were a series of cranes and other large assembly stations capable of repairing or moving equipment on large vehicles. The garage was little more than a loading station. A series of green lights lit up to notify Greg to make his approach. The door closed behind the rig as the truck slowly drove up onto the loading ramp.

By the time the front cabin neared the wall, the man had applied the brakes and placed the truck into park. He turned the key and powered down the rig, causing the rumbling engine to come to complete silence. The man further noted that when the door had closed, there was a rush of clean air that was driven into the massive interior. Upon looking at his gauges, he could see that the interior toxicity levels were dropping significantly.

“Looks like they got their shit together here,” Greg remarked further, looking at the garage. “I don’t even need my headcover.”

“That’s good,” Gip’grenda replied.

He looked at her. “You can stay in here or come with me. The choice is yours.”

She seemed to think about it. “I will need to work on my hoverbike soon.”

“Alright,” Greg said. With that, he opened the truck’s door, undid his seatbelt, and hopped out. His boots landed with a hard thud on the concrete floor. The Yutilian followed suit as she landed with a lighter tap. The man didn’t carry his rifle but still had a holstered pistol with him.

The garage had a concrete slab elevated over the parked vehicles. From there, a set of doors led further into the primary structure. The main door ahead above swung open to reveal a heavy-set man, most likely in his early 60s. He had a pale complexion, long, raggedy gray and brown hair, and a beard that flowed down his chin. His fat gut was held in by a lighter set of clothing similar to Greg’s survival gear.

“What the hell is all this!?” the big man yelled out to Greg before looking at Gip’grenda. His voice was coarse and scratchy. “I’m sitting in my office, and suddenly, I get some Mexican calling me from Las Vegas. Expects me to have a ton of fuel for some nobody from down South. Then, this asshole brings in this giant fat ass relic to crowd up my spaces ... with an Itrean! Who’s the son of a bitch come to bother me?”

The Yutilian’s feathers were lightly held up. The unknown stranger seemed somewhat energetic and possibly threatening. While his weight was quite obvious, he also made up for it in sheer mass. An angry man of this size was enough to intimidate the unknown individual.

Greg noted that the man was armed. On his near back right side was a holstered heavy-duty double-barreled sawed-off shotgun, most likely a ten gauge. It was possibly for showcase purposes, but even Greg knew that if he drew his pistol at the likely threat, he would be met by a hail of buckshot.

“Well?” the stranger questioned. “If you came to get some gas ... then you came to the right place...” The somewhat stoic anger became a heavy-set smile from the individual.

Greg gave a subtle smile to the person. “Owen Michael, I presume?”

“Owen of Salt Lake Petroleum and Repair Services ... or you can just call it the SLPR Dome for short.”

“Owen, my name is Greggory Eck, but you can just call me Greg.”

The Itrean held her scaly hand to her chest. “Gip’grenda.”

“Gip’grenda ... ehhh ... the name almost rings a bell.”

Greg held his hands as he looked at her. “Does everyone know you?”

The Yutilian shrugged her shoulders.

“Ha, ha,” Owen gave a hearty chuckle. “You keep interesting company with you, Greg. Actually, I already know a little bit about you as well. You can thank your friend, Videl, for that one.” The large, heavy-set man leaned down and stretched his hand out to Greg. “Need a hand getting up?”

Greg noted a ramp on the side to walk up but took the person’s hand. With a heave, Greg was hoisted up to stand beside Owen. Gip’grenda used her digitigrade legs to leap up with ease.

“A pleasure to meet you, Greg,” Owen remarked with a hard handshake. The manager put his hands on his hips. His jovial persona seemed to echo throughout the scene.

“So, what brings you to the Great Crossroads of The West?” Owen asked him.

“I need some gas.”

“No, no,” the man waved his hand. “Of course, you need gas. Every vehicle needs something to power it. I mean, what’s your reason for heading all the way here in that jalopy?”

“I’m heading up north to pick up a car and bring it back to Las Vegas.”

“With that? I got plenty of newer trucks. Those Genisen vehicles are old, but they aren’t that old. You don’t need that thing to do the job.”

“Then why do I still see ancient M1 Abrams tanks parked outside your dome? How about the M70 Maximus? You have battle tanks almost 300 years old, yet they don’t look like they’ve been badly beaten by the weather.”

“Hmm...,” Owen gruffed. “You do know your history. Yeah, I’m responsible for preserving Salt Lake City’s military vehicles, whether it’s a museum piece or something to fight back against an alien invasion is anyone’s guess...”

“Same reason why I’m using that truck. It was built in the early 21st century ... been piecing her together ... first time heading up north with it.”

“Looks like you did put some love into it. Container for handling the elements. I see a trailer for taking the vehicle back home. You got something to prove ... rarely hear about venturers these days, but they aren’t that rare, either.” Owen looked at Gip’grenda. “Especially with the Itreans at bay.”